What Doesn't Kill You
by TsundereFederation
Summary: America gets his hands on a Harley and bugs England into going for a ride. Will either of them survive the trip? One-shot. Rated for citrus, language.


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**AN: I just had to get this idea off my chest, so sorry if the story seems a bit rushed! I tried to pace it out as best I could.  
My cousin owns a Harley and I gotta say I sympathize with poor Arty here. They're not the easiest things to ride xD**

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"No," Arthur said flatly.

He had his game face on; formidable eyebrows forked downwards in a scowl, arms crossed over his chest and a defiant jut to his hip. Alfred stood at the end of his driveway, a ridiculous looking helmet tucked under one arm and the beginnings of a full blown pout on his lips. Behind him a motorcycle leaned against the curb, red chrome finish winking in the sun.

"Arthuuur, c'mon, I won't let anything happen to you," Alfred whined.  
"No," Arthur repeated. "There is not a chance in hell that I would agree to hop aboard your steel death trap and clunk my way to an early end."  
"It's not a death trap! This baby's a bonafide twenty-eleven all-American Softail chopper, she's a total classic!" Alfred's hand caressed the sun-warmed metal hub lovingly. "It's a Harley, Arthur, a _Harley_!"  
He seemed unable to say the word without drooling in reverence. Arthur simply pursed his lips in disapproval.  
"I don't care _what_ it is, I'm not letting you take me anywhere near it."  
"But-!"  
"The answer is no, Alfred."

With finality in his tone, the English nation turned on his heel, ready to slam his door in America's face. There were scrambled footsteps behind him and suddenly a boot jammed its way into his door. Alfred's sky-blue eyes were hurt as he peered at him through the crack.  
"Wait- wait, don't lock me out Arthur," he pleaded. "I thought you'd be surprised. I just wanted us to do something fun… I'm sorry you don't like it."  
Arthur flushed slightly, guilt twisting in his gut; Alfred sounded so dejected. Outside, the American grinned to himself as he felt the opposing force on the door weaken, edging it open a bit more with his foot.  
"Please Arthur," he continued in a sad little voice. "I didn't mean to make you mad."  
Slowly, the door opened for him. An equally yielding Arthur stepping out from behind it, his eyes sliding to the side to avoid locking with Alfred's. He grumbled something unintelligible and the American bit back a smile. Despite all his blustering England was a sucker for guilt trips… especially from him. All Alfred had to do was bust out the puppy-dog eyes and Arthur was putty in his hands. If he was feeling especially manipulative sometimes he'd use his "good little colony" voice too for maximum damage. Although that often had the adverse effect of turning Arthur on instead of getting him to do America's bidding.

"Sorry babe, I didn't catch that," Alfred said innocently.  
Arthur crossed his arms again and replied a bit louder, "I said, I suppose a few minutes couldn't hurt-"  
"YES!" America's fist pumped the air triumphantly.  
"But don't you dare stray above the speed limit, and we are not going off-road," Arthur added hastily.  
"Yeah yeah I promise. This is gonna be _so_ awesome!"  
Alfred grabbed his ever reluctant lover by the arm, dragging him into a tight hug. He kissed Arthur's forehead affectionately, chuckling when the Englishman's ears burned a dark pink at the action.  
Ya got a sunburn already Arty?" he teased, receiving a light swat for his troubles.  
"Belt up!" Arthur growled.

Several minutes later found Arthur perched nervously on the back of the Softail, leaning back with his hands clutching the ledge of the passenger's seat. In front of him Alfred's broad jacketed back shook with laughter, earning him a glare.  
"I'm not at all sure I'm comfortable with this," the Brit stated.  
His former charge shot him a megawatt grin and a thumbs up.  
"Relax, Art. I got this!"  
Arthur opened his mouth to protest that no, he didn't really think so and on second thought could they please forget the whole idea, but his voice was drowned out by the growl of the engine as Alfred fired her up. Exhaust started to plume around the vehicle and Arthur fell forward to clutch at Alfred's waist as the American revved the engine a couple of times. A second later he was very glad to have done so as the bike took off out of the driveway at an alarming speed, spraying up a cloud of pebbles and dust in its wake.  
"A-Alfred!" Arthur yelped, fairly crushing the other in his grip. Air whipping by tugged at his clothes, making his sleeves balloon out and flap and his shirt ride up. They were going much too fast. He'd explicitly told the idiot to stick to the speed limit! He pressed his body to Alfred's, gritting his teeth against the jarring bump and shudder of the motorcycle beneath them and he heard the American give a whoop. Probably reliving his cowboy days.  
"Git! Slow down, you're going to kill us both!" Arthur barked over the engine.  
"HUH?"  
"SLOW THE BLOODY HELL DOWN!"  
"SORRY ARTY I CAN'T HEAR YA, WE'RE GOING TOO FAST !" Alfred shouted back.  
"THAT'S WHAT I- oh for the love of the Queen-…!" The Englishman sucked in his breath sharply as they took a turn almost parallel to the ground.

After that he held his tongue, deciding that perhaps it was in his best interests to let Alfred focus on driving. He settled on watching the countryside as it flew past, his death grip on America's waist loosening a bit as he grew accustomed to the break-neck pace of the bike. He wouldn't say he liked it, but motorcycling certainly was an interesting experience.

Unfortunately, his few moments of peace didn't last long as a dusty little gravel path loomed off to their left and he felt Alfred tense under him.  
"Don't even think about it," Arthur hissed in his ear. "Alfred!"  
But it was too late, Angry British Rule number one had been broken when they'd barrelled over the speed limit and naturally that meant that number two could only follow in suit. America pulled the bike into a screeching turn and gunned it down the narrow country path. Gravel sprayed everywhere, dinging off the paintjob and biting into Arthur's pant legs. The bike started bouncing sharply as it bit into the loose shale, making Arthur hiss again in surprise. The movements shuddered up his spine, reverberating through his body in a way that made their previously bumpy trip down the actual road seem smooth as a skate on ice.

The Brit blushed, shifting uncomfortably atop the bucking machine as certain parts of his anatomy stirred to life at the vibration. Biting his lip, he buried his forehead into Alfred's jacket.  
"A-Al," he gasped.  
America smirked, pretending he couldn't feel his lover's half-hearted erection pressing traitorously into his back.

"Chill out, old man," he chirruped. "This stuff's even easier to handle than the road!"  
"It's… it's not that, I…"  
"You wanna go faster?"  
"N-no, wait-!"  
Arthur nearly bit his lip through as Alfred poured on the gas, groaning soundlessly into the heavy fabric of his shoulders. The bounce of bike on gravel drilled into him mercilessly as their speed increased and England tightened his grip on the American (now for completely different reasons), fingernails digging into his taut stomach. Up front, Alfred chuckled. He'd sort of guessed that Arthur would be weak against this kind of riding, but this was turning out even better than he'd dared hope. He could feel the Brit's hips twitching against him even though he was trying so hard to hide his arousal.  
"God, Alfred!" Arthur breathed hard in his ear and the American shivered happily.  
"Sorry babe, I can't hear you!" he called cheerily and was met with an audible moan.

It was all happening so embarrassingly quickly, nothing like when he and Alfred had sex. Granted, Arthur wasn't the one who usually liked it slow, and when he topped things went at a fair clip but this… he had no stamina for this. His body was going numb. By the time Arthur could see the end of the road, where it rejoined the highway, it was almost in tunnel-vision. If he just held on a bit, he could make it. But it seemed the same thought had occurred to Alfred. His ex-colony shot him a wicked grin over his shoulder and a second later the engine roared, sending them rocketing down the final stretch in a torrential spray of gravel. Arthur felt the rumble of the bike in his marrow; rushing filled his ears and he lost it. With a cry he spread his legs wide against Alfred's back and rode out his orgasm with his teeth full of his lover's leather jacket.

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***~USUK~***

The return trip was considerably less eventful and Arthur had sagged against Alfred's back as they'd turned onto the main road. He hadn't even had the wherewithal to scold the other for making him come in public (though his eyes had widened at the backup of traffic he'd almost wound up splaying his legs in front of) and he'd simply held Alfred wearily as they rode. Now, though, as America pulled up to the house and cut the engine he could

_feel_ those acid green eyes boring into his back. He wrestled the helmet from his head, tucked it under his arm, and turned around in his seat sheepishly only to dodge a well-placed right hook.  
"You prat! You _knew_ that was going to happen, didn't you!" Arthur growled accusingly. The American held up his hands in surrender, unable to wipe the shit eating grin off of his face.  
"How could I have known you'd be so sensitive, Arty?" he snickered.  
"What if people had seen!"  
"Aww, I wouldn't have let that happen sweetheart."  
Alfred clicked his tongue, pulling the prickly Englishman into an awkward embrace.  
"I'm the only one who gets to see your face when you come," he purred, giving Arthur's earlobe a playful nip. He felt the face shoved against his collar heat up. Suddenly the Brit's hands were at his throat and, for a wild second, Alfred was afraid he'd really pushed it too far and Arthur was finally going to snap his neck. Instead he found himself tugged into a rough kiss, which he gentled by angling his face and opening his mouth for Arthur's tongue to plunder. He hummed contentedly into it, arms slipping down to wrap around his lover's waist. When they broke apart panting, England's lips quirked into a wry smile.  
"What am I going to do with you?" he asked.  
"Get back at me in even kinkier ways?" Alfred offered. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, earning a playful slap from the older nation.  
"You're incorrigible."

Later, Arthur privately admitted to himself that he rather didn't mind biking.

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**Please R&R~  
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